


Fight Training

by themegalosaurus



Series: J2 Set Stories [4]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Closeted Character, Crack, Loud Sex, M/M, On Set, Play Fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5095106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let me get this straight,” Misha says. “Jared and Jensen film a scene together. They retire – together – to the privacy of one of their rooms. Eventually, they show up to their next scene, sweaty and dishevelled. Sometimes they are <i>bruised</i> in <i>significant places</i>. And you’re telling me that <i>nothing funny is going on?</i>”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight Training

**Author's Note:**

> This is the silliest ficlet based on [this story](http://themegalosaurus.tumblr.com/post/131451094358/so-i-was-looking-for-this-story-to-add-to). The timeframes don’t work, not really, but it’s just fluff so WHATEVER!

Misha considers himself an open-minded guy. He’s been to college, worked in DC, seen a little bit of the world. His own home life would be considered alternative by a lot of people. Even so, when he starts work on Supernatural, he finds himself absolutely scandalised by the noises that issue from Jared and Jensen’s trailers during filming breaks on set. It’s not the sex that bothers him: of course not. They make an adorable couple and he’s not sure why they insist on denying it. No, what shocks him is the public setting – the professional setting – and the uninhibited volume at which the pair of them carry on. It’s outrageous, hilarious, and he just wants to have a laugh about it. At least, that’s how he feels at first. But then everybody on set denies what’s happening, and Misha starts to get a little obsessed. 

“Let me get this straight,” Misha says, again and again to crew members and producers and cast. “Jared and Jensen film a scene together. They retire – _together_ – to the privacy of one of their rooms. A loud, in fact I’d go so far as to say an obtrusively loud, series of groans, grunts and moans float out across the lot. Eventually, they show up to their next scene, sweaty and dishevelled. Sometimes they are _bruised_  in _significant places_. And you’re telling me that _nothing funny is going on_?” 

Inevitably, his interlocutor shrugs. “Fight training,” Mike or Chris or Dan will say. “The guys are very dedicated to the job.” 

Misha’s a lot of things but he isn’t an idiot, and he’s starting to wonder if the whole thing is some kind of elaborate practical joke. Of course it’s patently obvious what’s going behind the closed doors of Jared and Jensen’s luxury RVs. Of course they can’t always behave like this, providing a pornographic backdrop to every day on set. It must be something to do with his status as the new guy. They’re testing him, maybe. Maybe they want to make sure he’s cool, with their relationship and everything, before they start being open about it in the usual way. 

OK, so it’s a pretty unorthodox way of doing that, but sure, he thinks. Sure. 

Thing is, when he tries to test his theory, he finds himself getting nowhere fast. 

“How long have you and Jared been a thing?” he says to Jensen, one day. 

“Well we met each other auditioning for the show,” Jensen says. 

“And then?” Misha asks. 

Jensen looks at him, unreadable. “Now we’re… on… the show?” he says, slowly. 

Right, thinks Misha, and goes to talk to Jared instead. 

“Fight training going well?” he asks. 

“Sure,” says Jared. “It’s important to keep up the practice.” 

“You and Jensen ever… train together… off set?” Misha asks. 

“I mean, we live together,” Jared says, “right now. So sometimes we train a little at home.” 

Misha thinks his head is going to explode. He just. He just doesn’t quite understand what’s going on. Inevitably, it starts to obsess him. He doesn’t even know why it bothers him so much. If the two of them want to pretend that they’re strictly platonic – if they want to keep it secret because of the network, or the fans, or their families, or _whatever it is_ , that’s fine. Misha’s cool with that. But then they should keep it under wraps! This weird open secret, where the two of them go at it like enormous, muscular rabbits and the whole set turns a collective deaf ear, is more than he can manage. It’s messing with his sense of reality. He just can’t let it lie. 

So really, what happens in Toronto is entirely his own fault. 

It’s the middle of a convention and the three of them are out drinking. It’s nice – it’s fun. The two of them took a while to warm up to him, which isn’t surprising, Misha supposes; they’ve had such a tight-knit working relationship (" _working relationship"_ ) for the past few years, and he’d be the first to admit that he can come across a little awkward on first acquaintance. But now they all get along well, and the copious tequilas that Jared’s been pouring down everybody’s throats for the past several hours are definitely greasing the wheel. Eventually, when Misha tries to stand up and ends up slithering, uncoordinated, to the floor, they decide to call it a night; and weave their way through the emptying streets back to the hotel. 

Somewhere on the journey, a little light clicks on in Misha’s mind. He knows for a fact that Jared and Jensen have been allocated separate rooms. They all three arrived together and he watched them check in – both of them down the corridor from where he’s staying himself. But he’s equally sure that, drunk and handsy as the pair of them have been all evening, they’re gonna want to stay together tonight. So. So. He’ll call them out on it tonight and they’ll have to admit what’s happening, and then everybody can stop this weird pretence and they can all get on with their lives. 

Several shots of Mexico’s finest down, however, Misha’s lost whatever subtlety he might once have possessed. “Bunking up together?” he asks, as Jensen prepares to follow Jared through his open door. 

Jensen turns around and blinks at him. “… Fight training,” he says. 

Misha doesn’t realise how fed up he is with this ridiculous charade until that precise moment. But he finds himself rolling his eyes so hard that he actually staggers backwards, knocked off balance by his own disdain. “Seriously, Jensen?” he asks. “ _Seriously_? Is that _still_  how you're gonna play it?” 

“What do you mean?” Jared asks. He’s clinging to the doorframe, wavering gently, his eyes slightly unfocused. “’S training. We’re very dedicated to the job.” 

“Great,” says Misha, then, surprising himself. “Count me in.” 

Jensen looks at Jared, widens his eyes a little. Jared raises his eyebrow. “Sure,” he says. 

As Misha follows them into the hotel room he starts to worry, just a little bit, that he’s signed up for some kind of group sex thing without altogether meaning to. Which… he likes both guys fine but he’s not sure he wants to get involved in that. But then, now, would it be too awkward to back out? These are important working relationships at stake. 

In the muzz of his drunkenness he’s well inside the room and still thinking hard about his options when Jensen says his name and he startles back into consciousness to see them – both of them – barefoot and shirtsleeved, stances wide and hands raised, facing him from the two corners of the room. “Ready?” Jensen says. 

What the - ? Misha’s barely had time to process the thought before two hundred pounds of Padalecki hits him full force in the chest. He goes down gasping, the air rushing out of him, and finds himself pressed hard against the carpet with somebody – must be Jensen – grabbing at his feet. Right, Misha thinks, OK then, and he kicks out hard (this isn’t wrestling, not really) and twists himself over until Jared comes crashing down onto the floor. 

“Fuck!” says Jared, shocked, as their ribcages slam hard together. A sharp shock of pain radiates through Misha’s chest. 

“Jesus, Jared,” he says. “I think you cracked a rib.” 

“I think I did, too,” says Jared – but he’s looking down at his own chest, which confuses Misha enough that he stops paying attention to where Jensen is. Before he knows it, there’s a weight against his shoulders and his right arm’s being twisted painfully behind his back. Jesus. Maybe they _do_  fit some fight training in between all the noisy sex. He tips himself backward, tries to smoosh Jensen against the floor – drops against him with most of his weight – feels a tug against his shoulder, where Jensen is still clinging tight to his forearm - and is just thinking that he might be gaining some kind of advantage, when his elbow gives a loud, disconcerting _pop_. A bolt of pure, blistering agony shoots up his arm. He shouts out, loud and incoherently, and Jared and Jensen both spring away from him in horror. 

“Guh,” says Misha, breathless. Wow. He’s not sure he’s ever hurt so bad. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to move his arm again. “What the _fuck_ , you guys?” he says. 

Jensen looks pale, his freckles standing out stark against his skin. “Dude, your elbow,” he says. “That was crazy.”

“ _You think_?” says Misha. He’s so mad. Stupid Jared and Jensen and their stupid, not-at-all covert sex life are entirely to blame for this miserable, painful – did he mention that it was painful? – situation. Well. _Almost_ entirely to blame. 

“Dude,” says Jared, shaking his head. “You’re supposed to tap out if it gets too much.” 

“Oh thanks,” says Misha. “Thanks. That would have been nice to know. Any more _secret rules_  you wanna tell me about? Any more _secret fight training rules_?” 

He sees Jared look over at Jensen, tipping his head just a little to one side. Jensen shakes his head, no, and Jared turns back to meet Misha’s eyes. 

“No, Misha,” he says. “No more secrets. Just us and the fight training.” 

“Well, you know that, now,” Jensen says. He chews a little at his lip, sets his hand on Misha’s shoulder. “Seriously, though, are you alright?”

“Great,” Misha grimaces. “Just gonna get down to the front desk and see if they can give me some painkillers.” 

It’s pretty obvious that neither Jared or Jensen meant to do this: that this wasn’t about punishing him, so much as calling his bluff. Hell, Jared has apparently sustained a fractured rib of his own. There’s no way _that_  was intentional. But it’s equally clear that his grand plan to catch them out in their lie has earned him nothing but a fucked-up elbow and an embarrassing sense of his own physical weakness. 

“You gonna be alright to get downstairs on your own?” asks Jared. “Do you want me to come with?” 

In the end, the two of them go down to reception together; pick up a good dose of high-quality painkillers and arrange to make a trip to the doctor the next morning to see about their ribs. When they go upstairs, Misha watches Jared walk straight into the bedroom where Jensen is waiting, and doesn’t say anything about it.

The next morning, Jensen shows up with carpet burn all over his face. Misha didn’t put it there. 

“Fight training,” Jensen says, when somebody asks him at breakfast about the big red scrape on his chin. He looks over at Misha. “We were wrestling. Right, Misha?” 

“Right,” Misha says.


End file.
